Bottoming Out – or why tights are the Devil’s underwear

I wore a dress to work yesterday. I’d been in jeans and leggings all week and my thighs weren’t thanking me for it.

It’s one of my favourite dresses; vintage, knee length and has silver thread through it.

Yesterday started off well. I got up in enough time to brush my freshly washed hair and put make up on – a rare occurrence for sure. I felt on it.

(Slight divergence, but does anyone know what we’re supposed to be On when we’re On It? Like, what is It??)

Anyway, I was wearing my big girl witchy shoes and everything. They are from M&S. They make me feel powerful. They are pointy toed. They have enough of a block heel to make them clip and clop as I cross the office foyer. I love those shoes.

So, I got through the entire day. No casualties, issues or upset. It was a productive day – I mapped two blog posts, created a checklist for the blogging process and managed to contribute in a workshop on buyer personas (look at me learning the new job lingo!)

I even had a shopping list written for the night’s dinner.

The sun was shining as I left the office. I was ready to great the weekend with a smile.

Fast forward to just far enough away from the office to warrant turning round, and the worst thing happened. My tights rolled right over my hips and belly bulge (we had a welcome lunch for the new guy and my food baby was huuuuge).

Now, I’m not talking a wee, easily rectified slip.

No no.

What I experienced was utter betrayal.

Down to my mid-thigh, chafe-inducing, butt-out exposure.

Well fuck me sideways.

How was I supposed to walk to Tesco, round Tesco and then on to Tam’s flat?!

I panicked. Hard.

So of course I messaged Tam in said fit of panic. He was useless.

He sent two laughing emojis and told me there was nothing he could do. What about emotional support, you heartless bastard???

So, I had my hand in my jacket pocket, holding my tights up as high as possible to prevent tripping myself up with tights round my ankles and hobbled as quickly as humanly possible to Tesco.

Once there, I headed for the clothing section, hoping I’d find a changing room or bathroom.

It’s at this point in the story that I’d like to play a game – that childhood favourite Fortunately Unfortunately.

Fortunately – I located both the bathroom and changing room quickly. They were next to each other.

Unfortunately – both were locked and required a member of staff to unlock them.

Fortunately – that was the end of the game. There were no Fortunatelys left.

Unfortunately – I was surrounded by 2 families, had tights now dangerously close to revealing their crotch below the hem of my dress, I was sweating profusely due to the stress of my situation and could see no way out.

So, I did what I had to.

I pretended to be trying a pair of shoes on and whipped the damn things off as quickly and discreetly as possible. Which, from the looks I got from a couple at the end of the aisle, wasn’t discreet enough.

The horror doesn’t end there, though. Oh no. That would be far too easy.

Have you ever tried to slip on a pair of leather shoes that cover the top of your foot when your feet are hot, you’re in panic mode and you have nothing to create a barrier between leather and skin?

If you haven’t, let me tell you – it’s absolutely horrific.

It took me 4 minutes of huffing, puffing, pulling and muttering under my breath to get the first foot in a shoe. The shame was almost too much.

Eventually, after my shoes were on, tights shoved into my handbag with as much contempt as I could muster, I zoomed round Tesco and was on my way.

I’d like to take a moment to apologise to my poor feet. They endured a hell of a beating on the walk from Tesco to Tam’s. I promise never to mistreat you like that ever again.

So, I guess the moral of the story is to always have a pair of back up tights, but really, invest in better quality tights than shitty Primark ones. Those fickle bastards will leave you high and dry in your hour of need.

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